There’s Chief Bardwell, puffed up in his tactical vest like a steroid-fed mall cop, mouth open, eyes hidden behind those impenetrable mirrored shades, crowding my lens like he’s trying to swallow the truth whole. In the background, Sgt. Kurt Gilmore — glowing like a radioactive traffic cone in his highlighter-yellow vest — is squared up, hands near his belt, actively blocking my camera while the real aggressor walks free. Gilmore doesn’t touch the guy screaming threats at me. No. He shakes the motherfucker’s hand like old golf buddies and sends him on his way.They don’t even realize they are violating my rights. Therein lies the danger… they make their own rules.
Bardwell threatened me with arrest three separate times for the high crime of trying to bring a legitimate grievance to the race director, Mike McCusker — that spandex-wearing prick who shuts down our town every summer under the holy banner of “economic benefit.”
This is the exact pathology of a small-town police department that has completely detached itself from constitutional limits. When these guys step into a scene, they don’t operate on law — they operate on instinct, personal alliances, and pure institutional arrogance.
They weaponize their physical presence. They suppress protected First Amendment activity — the clearly established right to record cops in public. They issue “lawful orders” that are nothing but made-up bullshit designed to intimidate citizens into silence. And they do it all from behind deep-tinted sunglasses and illegally blacked-out cruiser windows, because they want to watch you while remaining completely anonymous. They want total surveillance of the public and zero accountability for themselves.
Why do they always wear the fucking sunglasses? Why the special-order blackout tints? What exactly are they hiding behind all that tactical cosplay?
Because these toxic goons have developed a full-blown, illegal, malfeasant hard-on against me. A vendetta so naked it violates my civil rights in broad daylight on a public street. They dragged me through fraudulent proceedings, poisoned my name, and turned the local court system into their personal weapon. All while the Select Board claps like trained seals and hands Gilmore a merit raise for his “fantastic crew.”
Fantastic crew. Jesus wept.
I looked Gilmore dead in the face that day and told him: “You’re going viral, Kurt.” He scoffed. Of course he did. These clowns still think they’re untouchable.
The whole Shelburne Police Department has become a federal-level case study in abuse of power. From Pastor Lavigne’s ghost to Jacob Wrisley doing five years for kiddie porn on department devices — maybe it’s time we inspect every laptop, every hard drive, and every illegally tinted cruiser in that building.
They should stick to traffic duty and burning through $80,000 in gasoline per year. That’s about all they’re good for.
Toxic goons. Every last one of them. See it for yourself in live action:
Bardwell threatened me with arrest three separate times for the high crime of trying to bring a legitimate grievance to the race director, Mike McCusker — that spandex-wearing prick who shuts down our town every summer under the holy banner of “economic benefit.”
This is the exact pathology of a small-town police department that has completely detached itself from constitutional limits. When these guys step into a scene, they don’t operate on law — they operate on instinct, personal alliances, and pure institutional arrogance.
They weaponize their physical presence. They suppress protected First Amendment activity — the clearly established right to record cops in public. They issue “lawful orders” that are nothing but made-up bullshit designed to intimidate citizens into silence. And they do it all from behind deep-tinted sunglasses and illegally blacked-out cruiser windows, because they want to watch you while remaining completely anonymous. They want total surveillance of the public and zero accountability for themselves.
Why do they always wear the fucking sunglasses? Why the special-order blackout tints? What exactly are they hiding behind all that tactical cosplay?
Because these toxic goons have developed a full-blown, illegal, malfeasant hard-on against me. A vendetta so naked it violates my civil rights in broad daylight on a public street. They dragged me through fraudulent proceedings, poisoned my name, and turned the local court system into their personal weapon. All while the Select Board claps like trained seals and hands Gilmore a merit raise for his “fantastic crew.”
Fantastic crew. Jesus wept.
I looked Gilmore dead in the face that day and told him: “You’re going viral, Kurt.” He scoffed. Of course he did. These clowns still think they’re untouchable.
The whole Shelburne Police Department has become a federal-level case study in abuse of power. From Pastor Lavigne’s ghost to Jacob Wrisley doing five years for kiddie porn on department devices — maybe it’s time we inspect every laptop, every hard drive, and every illegally tinted cruiser in that building.
They should stick to traffic duty and burning through $80,000 in gasoline per year. That’s about all they’re good for.
Toxic goons. Every last one of them. See it for yourself in live action: